If, like me, you indulge in secret fantasies of sweeping into a crowded ballroom in a ravishing gown, dazzling everyone with your beauty and charm and waltzing the night away with Prince Charming, then this is the pub for you. Located in a turn-of-the-century hotel ballroom restored to all its former glory, Hamilton Hall has got to be the most ridiculously ornate place to get sloshed this side of the Ritz.
Old-fashioned even when it was first built, it’s done up in a florid Baroque style. Plush carpeting covers the floor. The cream-colored walls drip with gilt—that is, when they aren’t covered with enormous mirrors. Chandeliers grace the high ceilings alongside carvings of scantily clad nymphs. Okay, so it ain’t quite the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles, but it’s still more splendid than a pub has any right to be.
The large room is scattered with tables and chairs and lined with fireplaces and bookshelves, giving it an agreeably cozy feeling in spite of its grandeur. A sizable balcony overhangs the bar at one end, and the staircase sweeping down from there to the main level is so perfect for making a grand entrance, you can only think it was custom-designed for the purpose. I could almost hear the awed hush, followed by an appreciative murmur, that would drift up to my ears from the dancers below as I began my regal descent.
On our visit, Hamilton Hall was filled with an eclectic and reasonably numerous patronage that seemed to encompass everything from casual passersby to devoted followers. The bartender was never short of people to wait on, but when one of my friends asked him about the selection of ales, he took the time to pour out samples of each one so my friend could make an informed decision. The beer isn’t really what this place is all about, though—it’s the atmosphere you come to drink in.